


The Adventure Of Sir James Saunders' Fox-Hunter

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [78]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempted Murder, F/M, Framing Story, Horses, Illegitimacy, Inheritance, M/M, Minor Character Death, Poisoning, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 19:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15691809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A campaign of terror is more than it seems in rural Kesteven and Sherlock is unable to prevent a death – a most dreadful one.





	The Adventure Of Sir James Saunders' Fox-Hunter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kimirose1516](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimirose1516/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

This case took place about a month after _The Missing Three-Quarter_ , and took my brother Sherlock back to Lincolnshire on behalf of someone I knew personally. It featured one of the more unusual means of murdering someone, in selecting a target that was close to them. My brother was by his efforts able to prevent a tragedy – but not a death......

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

When Holmes' eldest brother Sherrinford met Mr. Kevan Sorbeaux over two decades before this story took place the latter was working part-time as a circus strong-man, but his main job was as a blacksmith at a local smithery. He gave that up when Holmes' brother moved in with him, not sorrowfully I later found out as news of his 'inheritance' had reached those at the smithery and most had taken the news ill - except that was for one young trainee by name of Mr. Hadrian Sutton, who had quietly approached Mr. Sorbeaux later to inquire about possible employment opportunities. He had been refused as he was but sixteen at the time, and only later accepted when he attained his majority, and we had received a communication from his employers asking if he might wait on us.

Our visitor arrived that afternoon. Mr. Hadrian Sutton looked every inch the archetypal prosperous Victorian businessman rather than a blacksmith with his own forge down in Fulham. He was just short of forty years of age, debonair rather than just handsome and with just the correct amount of self-confidence in himself. There was nothing to his appearance that suggested he would later transform himself into 'Mr. Monopoly', wearing possibly the self-same top-hat and very little else as he 'instructed' his clients in 'business practices'.

I met the strangest people through Holmes!

“Greetings, Mr. Sutton”, my friend said. “My brother and Mr. Sorbeaux said that you had a familial problem that I might help with. They also suggested a degree of urgency but did not say why.”

“Thank you for seeing me, gentlemen”, Mr. Sutton said. “I am not sure what to make of what little I know of this matter so far, but it seems to be heading in a way that I do not like. It concerns my brother Hereward, who works as a smith in the Lincolnshire town of Bourne.”

Curious, I thought. Hereward Hall was where Holmes had solved the theft (and return) of the famous Hereward Dagger some eight years back. He had later told me that the two young gentlemen in that matter, Peter Fforbes and Thomas Grice-Patterson, had on the former's brother William attaining his majority left for Australia as they had wished. The grumpy Earl Merioneth was still squire and Miss Alice Grice-Patterson had been in the newspapers more than once by campaigning loudly for women's suffrage. Some people did not change.

“Herry wrote me last week that he was worried about one of his horses.”

“You are from that part of the world, then?” Holmes asked. The smith smiled.

“Country boys who come to London get teased if they keep their old tongue, sir”, he said. “Herry said that the one time he came to the capital. He works all the estates around Bourne, where his smithery is. One of them is _“Two Saints”_ , the house of a Sir James Saunders. Herry said once that he's a fine old gentleman, and always pays on time unlike so many.”

_(Sir James Saunders was in fact rather more than just 'a fine old gentleman'. He had been one of Her Majesty's chief gentleman attending and had retired to his house in the country only the year before due to his declining health)._

“Herry said in his last letter that someone is threatening to kill Sir James' old fox-hunter”, the smith said, frowning. “Horse called Gildardus, a bay beauty, but like his owner getting on in years. Sir James does not ride him to hounds any more but one of the lads at the stables told Herry that the maid he is seeing up said that there had been a threatening letter saying that they would 'get' the horse.”

“Why target a poor horse?” I wondered. “And why say that you are going to do it beforehand? Surely the animal is kept in a stable so breaking into it would be fairly easy?”

Our visitor scratched his head.

“I do not like it, sirs”, he said. “Herry is sure that the family is on it, somehow. He wrote asking if I would put it to you gentlemen, and Mr. Sherrinford and Mr. Sorbeaux said I could approach you.”

“They were quite right so to do”, Holmes said, to my surprise. “We shall take this case, and we shall be sure to keep you informed of any developments.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The village of Little Bytham outside which “Two Saints” lay was on the East Coast route to Scotland, but Holmes decided to first call in on our client's brother Mr. Hereward Sutton. Perversely the town of Bourne proved more difficult to reach, as we would have to change both at Peterborough and then again at Essendine Junction. We set out the following day. 

After our earlier Lincolnshire case concerning the assassin (or assassins), I was fully expecting Kesteven to be as flat as the adjoining Part of Holland, and was pleasantly surprised that, although far from hilly, the terrain seemed to occasionally remember that it could exist in all three dimensions. Bourne itself was a pleasant little town, and our client had recommended us to stay at the Bull & Swan Inn. His brother would attend us there the evening of our arrival if we sent a message round to his smithy, which we did.

Mr. Hereward Sutton was, to my surprise, nothing like his brother. Tall, blond and muscular, he much more resembled Mr. Sorbeaux; I had wondered a little at that gentleman not accompanying his 'employee' to Baker Street but I knew there was a degree of tension between himself and Holmes. The Lincolnshire blacksmith was also surprisingly mannerly for someone who worked in so rough a profession, although I supposed that his having to be round so much nobility in the area may have led to that.

“I am glad that Adie is doing so well for himself”, the smith smiled. “Our father, sorry to say, is exceptionally narrow-minded when it comes to such things, and Mother is too weak to oppose him. That was why he went to London in the first place.”

“Families can be difficult things”, Holmes sympathized. “You told your brother about a problem you had with one Sir James Saunders?”

The smith nodded.

“Sir James is a big noise in these parts”, he said, “despite his being all but retired now. He is a good man though, unlike some as I could mention. And he's very attached to Gildardus, his old fox-hunter. I know it really upset him when he was told by his doctor that he should not ride to hounds any more.”

“I am wagering that he tried anyway?” Holmes smiled. The smith nodded.

“No-one else is allowed to ride the animal”, he said, “but after his doctor had visited I had to re-shoe him and noted that he had been out. He lives in a small annex attached to the main stables and has a field to go out in whenever he wants. He is getting on a bit and it was good of Sir James to treat him that way. Not many would.”

“Why does he not live with the rest of the horses?” I asked. The smith grinned.

“That's his little foible”, he said. “I've seen him out riding and he's perfectly well-behaved – unless there's a storm around. Most animals cower inside when the thunder and lightning start; he kicks his door open and goes out for a mad gallop. It is strange because when it comes to shoeing him, he's as docile as a lamb.”

“There are worse failings than a love of bad weather”, Holmes smiled. “You told your brother that you suspected someone in the family of being behind these threats against the animal?” 

The smith's face darkened.

“Them lot!” he said, his voice suddenly full of vitriol. “I wouldn't trust them to tell me the time of day!”

“Please tell us about them”, Holmes said. “Slowly if you do not mind; when people speak too fast, the doctor's dreadful scrawl becomes like a set of Egyptian hieroglyphs!”

I scowled at him for that. And the smith did not need to laugh either!

“There's three of them, all told”, he said. “Sir James' eldest, Lord Corby, is about forty years of age, and if his abilities matched his sheer bloody arrogance, the estate would be fine. Named for his father, though everyone calls him Jack. I suppose it was lucky in a way that he got left in charge of the estate whilst Sir James was in hospital for a few weeks last winter; from what I heard he made a right pig's ear of it! Now his dear old dad is having second thoughts about his inheriting it all.”

“Then there's Lord Jack's sister Lady Emily”, the smith continued. “Lot of bad blood there. Sir James was all set to leave her a decent part of the estate, but she went and ran off with some chap up from London, and spent two years with him before he ditched her. I'm only amazed that it lasted two years; she's a right bossy old cow!”

I was gaining the distinct impression that the smith was not overly enamoured of the people at _“Two Saints”_. Although he generously allowed me to catch up with my writing before continuing.

“And third we have the youngest sprog, Lord Edgar”, the smith said. “Sly, that's the word I'd use to describe him. All care and attention to his dear old dad one minute, but I've heard he behaves very different when he's over in Birmingham.”

“Birmingham?” Holmes asked. “Why there?”

“Sir James invested in a few factories in and around there”, the smith explained.

“Most interesting”, Holmes said. 

He looked hard at the smith who fidgeted for some reason. I knew that look and waited. Sure enough, it did not take long for the man to break under that look.

“The only other fellow who might be involved is the stable-boy”, he said. “His name's Douglas, but everyone calls him Digger.”

“Why would the stable-boy be involved?” I wondered.

“He was the one who found the notes in the horse's stable”, the smith explained. “I thought he might be working with someone else perhaps.”

Holmes thought for a moment.

“The obvious question”, he said at last, “is _cui bono?_ Who would benefit from the death.”

“Of a horse?” I asked incredulously. Holmes shook his head.

“Of Sir James”, he said. He looked hard at the smith. “That was the _real_ reason that you asked your brother to call us in, was it not? This is more than a threat made against an innocent equine. Someone is hoping to get at your noble client through his favourite horse.”

The smith reddened but nodded.

“Sir James is pretty decent for a toff”, he said. “We could do a lot worse, especially when I look at his kids.”

Holmes sighed heavily.

“I shall telegraph to London”, he said. “I have to know the contents of that will.”

“Oh I can tell you that”, the smith said. 

We both looked at him in astonishment.

“How?” I asked, beating Holmes to the obvious question. 

“Sir James is clever, sirs”, the smith grinned. “He drew up a new will last year, and had the mayor and his wife come to the Hall and witness it. They got to read it of course, and she.... well, she can talk the hind leg off a donkey! Everyone knew within days.”

“One would assume that your nobleman, knowing the area as he must, would have foreseen that”, Holmes grinned. “What does the will say?”

“The estate and money mostly goes to his eldest son”, the smith said. “All the other children get ten per cent but only the income; they can't touch the capital. So if Lord Corby messes that up they might end up with next to nothing. There were the usual gifts to the staff members, more to those who had been there the longest.”

“Including this 'Digger'?” Holmes asked.

“Yes”, the smith said. “Sir James is a generous old soul. Even I got named in it, would you believe?”

Holmes seemed lost in thought for some time. Then he smiled.

“You did not mention if either of the two nobleman's sons were married”, he said.

“Women round here have better taste!” the smith snorted. I smiled.

“And the family is not an old one, I believe?” Holmes asked. I looked at him in surprise.

“Not in Kesteven”, the smith said, also obviously surprised at the question. My late grandfather used to talk about the Wellses who had the place in his time. I think they lost all their money somehow and had to sell up to Sir James' father. He was a right tartar and all!”

“Is there a Lady Saunders?” 

“Which one?” the smith grinned. “The first one was a local girl, who he took up with when he was just Mr. Saunders of Bourne. His parents soon put a stop to that and he married the current one Lady Helena a couple of years after. I didn't mention her because she doesn't connect with Earth that often. Totally away with the fairies, although if I had children like hers and I had the money, perhaps I'd be that way inclined too. She's away somewhere on the Lancashire coast at some commune or other just now.”

“She is not mentioned in the will?” I asked, surprised.

“She had a large sum from her own father”, the smith said. “But she only gets to draw the interest from it, and when she dies the capital all goes to charity. Her father did not think much of her offspring, by the looks of it!”

“I shall still have to call in the offices of Miss Richards”, Holmes sighed. “And tomorrow we shall pay a call on the lady mayoress. After that, we should be done.”

We both stared at him in surprise.

“You know who is behind those threats?” I asked.

“It does seem quite obvious”, he said airily. “A few more checks to be sure, and we shall be able to bring things to a conclusion, hopefully without anyone meeting an untimely end.”

In that hope he was to be disappointed.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following day we set out to see if we could obtain an appointment with the mayor's wife, for whatever reason that Holmes wanted to talk to her. Mrs. Gertrude Shilling was sixty if she was a day with badly-dyed hair that, I assumed, was meant to be purple. Thankfully his questions to her were few and we were soon on our way. 

“What did you mean when you asked her about the will?” I asked, as we left the town behind us and headed west, presumably to visit Sir James Saunders. “Did you think that she lied to everyone?”

Holmes shook his head.

“I think rather that what she said and what people _thought_ that she said might be two slightly different things”, he said. “And in this case, it might be the difference between life and death.”

And that left me more confused that ever!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We crossed under the Great Northern Railway's main line and entered Little Bytham but Holmes only drove to the far end of the village, where he drew up outside a rather attractive church.

“St. Medard and St. Gildard”, he said, looking at the sign. “The only church dedicated to them in all England, and the latter of whom gave his name to the horse in our drama. We are meeting someone here.”

Sure enough we entered the little church to find a man waiting for us. But not one that I had been expecting.

“Douglas”, Holmes beamed. “So good of you to come and see us.”

The stable-boy (for presumably it was he) was small and thin, and frankly looked as if a strong wind might pick him up and deposit him in the North Sea many miles east of here. 

“Sirs?” he quavered.

“I have but two questions to ask you”, Holmes said briskly. He took out a notebook and pencil and passed both over to the boy. “You will find four names on that list. Kindly place a cross next to the person in the house who has been writing the notes threatening your master as of late.”

The boy went pale and his hand was shaking as he took the notebook and made a mark before passing it back. Holmes' face darkened.

“Now”, he said, “we come to the crux of the matter. When is the horse to be killed?”

I honestly feared that the boy might pass out and it took him some considerable time to manage an answer.

“Tonight”, he spluttered. “He.... he heard of your being in the area, sir.”

I wondered who 'he' was. Holmes nodded, apparently satisfied.

“I must be brutally honest with you, Douglas”, he said. “Your position as of this moment is bad. Very, very bad. You may believe – indeed, I am sure that you have been led to believe - that your role in this matter is a minor one and that you yourself will escape punishment for it. As someone who knows these things I can most heartily assure you that the courts will see things differently. You are looking at many, many years in a gaol system that, as I am sure you know, is not a good place for boys of your tender age.”

The boy whined in fear.

“However”, Holmes said, “you have on the plus side been wise enough to speak truth to me, and that inclines me to offer you some small hope. You may feel inclined, despite the way that he has most selfishly inveigled you into his crime, to warn the person planning this attack upon your return. If you do speak to him, then no power on earth can save you from the terrible consequences. If however he remains unaware of your talking to me, then I swear on the Good Book that I will speak up for you when the time comes. Remember, either way - I will know!”

The boy moaned, but managed a strangled 'thank you' before bolting from the church. I stared after him more confused than ever.

“We shall adjourn to the local tavern for a few hours”, Holmes said. “Tonight, with luck, we shall prevent a death.”

We did. And yet we did not.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We had some time to wait as it was not far from Midsummer's Day, which meant that it did not get dark until nearly ten o'clock. By that time we had driven to the wall around Sir James Saunders' estate, and Holmes had of course effortlessly picked the lock of a gate in it. It was humid and I hoped that it was not going to rain. Of course that thought was barely in my mind when I felt the first splash on my coat. I glared upwards.

There was a large field fenced off behind what was obviously a stable block, and I could see the small annex in which, presumably, the old fox-hunter lived. We made our way around the fence towards it, but as we drew near I spotted something. A figure was making its way around towards the annex, which I thought odd considering that it was now bucketing down.

“Come!” Holmes called, setting off at a run. 

I raced after him as best I could. There was a flash of lightning, followed only a second later by a rumble of thunder. I knew that meant that the storm was barely a mile away. 

We were nearly at the annex now, and could hear the excited whinnying of the horse inside. I wondered why he was not out 'enjoying' the storm as we had been told, but I soon had my answer. The door suddenly flew open, kicked through by the excited horse who bolted out through it. Following Holmes inside the building, I saw a figure lying prone just where the animal had been. A syringe protruded from their body where the stampeding horse had, presumably driven it in in his rush to get out.

Death by horse.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

It was some little time later. There was nothing I could have done for the victim; even had they not been trampled by several tons of unstoppable horse-flesh, the syringe had contained enough poison to kill the animal. On a human it had proven just as deadly.

Sir James Saunders looked bewildered by our stormy advent, and I silently thanked the Lord that at least we did not have to deal with his family as well. His daughter had been shocked by developments, and both her brothers were upstairs consoling her.

“Who was the fellow?” the nobleman asked. “And what were they doing out there in this weather?”

Holmes sighed deeply.

“I have a long tale to tell you, sir”, he said. “I am afraid that it is not good news.”

He sipped at the coffee that had just arrived, and began.

“Your local blacksmith, Mr. Hereward Sutton, very wisely requested that I be brought in on the case of the threats made against your horse”, he said. “He felt, and I concurred with that opinion, that there was more to the matter than met the eye. I made some inquiries and quickly established that in the event of your untimely demise, then your eldest son would receive the bulk of your estate.”

“Jack would never do anything like that!” the nobleman said stoutly, though I noticed the look of doubt in his eyes as he said it. 

“It all seemed rather strange”, Holmes mused. “Your eldest son had neither a pressing need for money nor seemingly a character that suggested any inclination to kill. Nor did he. However we do have a dead body to account for, and as you know it is that of one of your footmen, Mr. Cameron.”

“But why would _he_ attack the horse?” the nobleman asked, bewilderedly.

“I often remark”, Holmes said, “that when one has eliminated the impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. I decided to approach this matter in another way. I saw Mrs. Shilling and asked her about her witnessing of your will. You knew full well how local areas such as this operate, and decided to put an end to speculation about who was to get what in your family by having an inveterate gossip such as her witness it, knowing that the contents would be all over the area within days.”

The nobleman blushed, and I knew that Holmes had found him out.

“It is interesting”, Holmes mused, “that what people _say_ and what it is _reported_ that they say can have the smallest differences, and yet those differences can be most instructive. In this case, well-intentioned as they doubtless were, your actions prompted the attacks on your horse.”

“What?” the nobleman exclaimed. “But how?”

“I asked Mrs. Shilling one important question”, Holmes said. “It had been reported that your eldest son Lord Corby was named as the chief beneficiary in your will. But that was not actually true.”

“Sir....”

“The exact wording, which was most unfortunate – and you might wish to consider a change of lawyer over this matter – was that the estate went, and I quote, 'to your eldest son', with set amounts put by for all your other children.”

“To Jack”, the nobleman insisted. Holmes shook his head.

I am afraid that that is not the case”, he said. “I made some inquiries, and I soon learnt that you had had a brief first marriage that, your parents disapproving of same, had dissolved. What neither they nor you knew at the time was that the girl was pregnant with your child, and that the child was born before the formal dissolution. Hence he was your rightful son and heir.”

Sir James' face had turned ashen.

“The unfortunate wording of that will came back upon your poor horse tonight”, Holmes said, “and had not the storm come when it had, might well have destroyed him. Your footman Cameron was in fact Mr. David Sanderson. His mother re-married and raised him with the rest of her family, but on his reaching his twenty-first birthday she told him of his past. Initially he thought nothing of it, until a chance visit to the area led him to discover the wording of the will. My other question to Mrs. Shilling showed that he had questioned her, and had thus realized that he could legally claim to be the rightful heir.”

“He quickly realizes that the horse is your weak-point, and starts leaving threatening messages in the stable. Earlier today I confronted your stable-boy Douglas, and he admitted that the man had been to the stables on several occasions, something that his post would not usually entail. Most unfortunately for him, the one local story that he does not pay attention to is that of the horse's reaction to weather such as this. When he visits the stables with a syringe to finish him off, the animal, wishing to go out and enjoy this foul weather, charges out and rushes over him. In so doing, the syringe of deadly poison that the man was carrying is driven into his own, much smaller body. What would bring a slow death to a huge horse is quickly lethal to the far smaller human frame, and he fittingly meets the same end that he had intended for your poor horse.”

The nobleman was silent.

“Of course”, Holmes said quietly, “none of this needs to come out.”

Sir James looked up in surprise.

“You would cover this up?” he asked, sounding more than a little dubious. Holmes smiled.

“The man's mother has passed, but his step-family is still alive”, he said. “Nothing can be gained by setting the vultures of the press onto them; they had no part in his actions. It was unfortunate that your footman, having been instructed to check up on the horse, was killed when it stampeded over him, but I am sure that if you are generous towards his step-family, then local interest will soon wane.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

There is little more to be said. Sir James thanked us heartily for all our efforts on his behalf and promised to do as Holmes had asked. He lived on for a further five years, oddly (and perhaps fittingly) dying just two days after his horse went to that great stables in the sky where doubtless they hunt together as of old.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
